Tuesday Triage Try for Triumph

1 cup black eye half swollen shut.

1 cup 102 degree fever.

10 gallons fresh squeezed fatigue.

1 9-hour nap.

1 pckg. salted trip to the ER at 2am, stir immediately and continuously.

1 pinch of accidental needle the size of PVC pipe for labs and an IV.

1 one pound bag of X-ray.

1 tbsp. unexpected diagnosis.

5 litres not enough sleep.

Sift ingredients.

Bake for 2.5 hours (the sleep). Finished product should yield one seriously hot mess, sore to the touch, eyes slightly singed, and involuntarily averted from cleaning.

Letting this stiff and worthless entree to settle will only serve to ensure that nothing ever gets done in the house again. Thus, immediate and drastic measures must be taken and followed closely to avoid domestic apocalypse.

The key is to KEEP STIRRING or it will harden.

Next, get out the following ingredients-

This will produce a liquid that allows the concoction to rise:


These are set to ensure movement:


Pour concoction from bowl and observe. Add 3 gallons music. (Not optional.)


If you've followed the recipe exactly, the result should look like this:


If that works, blend the mess with this:


It should look like this:


Continue to fold the following ingredients in to taste:

(This is extra spicy, mix with caution.)

If your product holds up, continue with this, for presentation:


Much better, no?


If your recipe withstood all these steps, then you clearly used a dash of Moxie Clean.

(Disclaimer* This entire post is utterly gay. [Vicodin])

Saturday Splendor, Mania a la Carte

Operation: MOVE EVERYONE OUT AND INTO HIS/HER OWN ROOM is complete, and we did a damned fine job, even by Moxie standards. I have to tip my hat to Todd, who tackled the two things I despise: Shampooing the every inch of carpet in the house, and disassembling the fucking bunk beds, which nearly killed me. (See yesterday's post for a more detailed description of the various debacles and triumphs of the move.) I was amped up and then some, Mach 10 at least. 9am-1am of straight ass-kicking labour, interspersed with deep cleaning, when I got pinned into the kitchen by mattresses and trapped elsewhere by assorted furniture, sailing through the house like flotsam waiting to be washed ashore.

In between breaking my neck thinking I could take the beds apart by sitting on the bottom and pushing the top one off with my head, which nearly caved in, taking the hinges off every door, moving three beds, dressers, 2,489 lb. Rubbermaid Lego drawers, and making peace with this sectional, which is one c***sucking inch too long to fit snugly and thus, takes up the entire living room. I pouted about this like a recalcitrant child, refusing to acknowledge it, and scoffing at all reason.

"So what if it comes out a foot farther? What were you going to do in this living room, play Twister?" Debe asked. This made total sense and I got over it. Well, like 75% over it.

So in the midst of this consumerism implosion, I managed to:

-Wash EVERYTHING washable in the entire house, including bleaching all whites, clothes to be consigned, clothes to hand down, ALL bedding, EVERY blanket, coats, stuffed animals, bedding to be stored, purses and backpacks for the garage sale, and BATH MATS. (!!!)

-Bleach sinks.

-Keep all dishes washed.

-Gather and curse four MILLION bobby pins. These can be found in the hinge of the dryer, all of Reilly's pockets, my pockets, on every surface, on the porch, in the sink, but absolutely NEVER fucking in your purse when you desperately need one. Never.

-Same with hair bands.

-Windexed mirrors and windows.

-Emptied garbage and all wastebaskets in addition to the three garbage bags we filled and tossed. This is the most amazing thing ever.

-Dusted everything that was relocating, which was everything.

-Organize main bookshelf.

-Wipe down floor lamps.

-Hang clean hand towels in kitchen and bathroom.

-Sweep and sweep and sweep and sweep...and sweep.

-Tidy up garage sale heap to be carried out.

-Did not throw a string onto the passenger floor of Debe's new car.

-Scrubbed back bathroom, hands and knees, baseboard, toilet, tile, the works.

-Put all my clothes away, and continued to wonder how in the hell I have so many. I'm a shameless clothes whore, what can I say? Better than being a regular whore. I'd rather have a packed closet than HPV, I'm just sayin' Andi.

But moving was the star of the show, and as promised, here are some pictures of our efforts. They're a bit grainy, for which I apologize. They were taken by the overrated iPhone, and several of them at night, and Quinn's quilt is crooked (UGH!), but hopefully you'll leap to your feet and clap until your hands are numb.

BEFORE, where the kids have been inextricably trapped together for 10 years (though we co-slept for nine years):


Todd shampooing under Reilly's bed (joy of joys!):


Bunk bed on its side. This was one of those things where Todd just says "Go, and don't talk," lol. Only it wasn't funny. Plus the kids switched beds and wanted them on the impossible walls. And Papa delivered. :)


Quinn on a break with a random mattress hanging around:


Reilly's "stuffed-ie" condo, hanging on the bathroom door, which was off its hinges. It was like Alice in Wonderland:


Gutted like a fish:


A rough shot of REILLY'S ROOM, at long last:


Quinn's oasis, where he can read and grow endlessly:


Not a great shot, but I sorted his precious books, and he was so pleased:


And there you (mostly) have it. There were some injuries, such as cutting my foot, Quinn's ever-growing wingspan flying and his nail slicing my ear, which bled, but I soldiered on. I also mentioned breaking my skull trying to separate the bunk beds with my head. Debe pulled a muscle in her shoulder moving the hide-a-bed part of the sectional, and I may have tossed Bella off the new couch in such a way as to make her body contort into something of a Slinky for just a second. I always forget how small and bendy she is. So moving is not without its hazards, but it is all worth it, and I highly recommended. It presents opportunities to clean you never expected. And you should be delighted by this.

Having gone to bed at 4:00am, I told myself, "Self, you are sleeping until at least 8:00am or I will kick your ass." What can I say, I'm a rebel. 6:42am. I'm already eating lunch, and have to get ready to go to work and hopefully get back in time to take the kids to the pool. They so deserve it.

Then to the hacienda to deal with bobby pins, vacuum my car, and bleach the bath tub.

If this doesn't inspire you to do something, then I cut my ear for nothing!

Friday in the Fast Lane!!!

It began innocently enough. I bought a sectional sofa because a knot in the wood of our super amazing and comfy couch and love seat had caused fractures in the structure.

It was delivered this morning.

Thus far, we have accomplished these things today (1 o'clock):

-Todd shampooed the ENTIRE house yesterday. There are no words to convey my bliss.

-Put the old set out to pasture, listed it on craigslist, and someone is coming for it at 4 o'clock. I'm sad to see it go. My kids grew up with this set, and it is SO clean.

-Hauled and heaved four pieces of awkward trapezoidal sectional into the house, after removing the door, cutting my foot, and making me regret not staying in Mexico under that palapa.

-Dirt Deviled the ever-loving shit out of the sectional.

-Began voting various pieces of furniture off the island.

-Washed ALL bedding in the house, in anticipation of setting up the kids' rooms.

-Folded all laundry.

-Bleached kitchen sinks.

-Stopped to drink the mango smoothies (yes plural smoothies) Debe made out of our aging mangos. OMG. Win. (Tip: We got these on Silverton Rd. at a little stand and all 50+ have been amazing.)

-Cleaned the refrigerator.

-Sorted the kids' books. Got rid of a lot, but Quinn wouldn't let go of their childhood books, which was really sweet.

-Culled yet more outgrown clothes from both kids' dressers. Quinn gives things up freely whereas Reilly is convinced there will come an opportunity to wear the GAP 18 mos. khaki shorts she has had since she was ... 18 months. So I have to be somewhat of a bandit with her stuff.

-Constantly setting things aside for our garage sale. There are precarious stacks everywhere.

-Cleaned out all the drawers in the back vanity, like every little clear hair band and those plastic things that stores use a tag gun to attach the price tags. Those are a bitch to scrape out of a drawer let me tell you. Sharing my space with Quinn and Reilly is also a picnic, thought it's sometimes fun.

-The computer guy is here wiping our hard drive.

-I dried Reilly's 10 mile hair when I was SO hot and sweaty from scrubbing the back bathroom on my hands and knees.

-Scrubbed back bathroom on hands and knees.

-Washed all bath mats.

-Gathered two bags for the garage sale, to go with the 82936385 bags already in a rejected huddle.

-Went through the kids' art work. (!!!)

-Sorted consignment-worthy clothes from give-away.

-Scrubbed my ottomans hardcore.

-Dusted like a madman. EVERYWHERE.

-Delegated serious shit. I am a genius.

-Hung consignment clothes with perfect creases.

-Yanked the mattresses off the bunk beds and put them wherever. Nothing can stop me now.

-Just sold the old couch and love seat. Felt emotional.

-Sat on the bottom bunk and lifted the top bunk off of it, balancing it on my head like some tribal woman schlepping water in a basket, only 7,000,000 times bigger, heavier, more awkward, and African women are beautiful and I am, well ... smart?

-Did a bleach load.

-Hid these two really scratchy fucked up blankets my mom got the kids years ago (from Hell, one can only assume). They LOVE them, and I hate them, and we have blankets like The Bible has locusts so I put one icky blanket in each red ottoman. I'd feel bad throwing them out because they do love 'em, but I need a break from their scritchy-ness. Win.

-Rotated bedding. Thank God OCD means saving all those plastic zip bags that comforters come in.

-Pretend to be invisible as Todd moves Quinn's bed into his room, which happens to be literally physically impossible, yet he is doing it. It is best not to jinx it by saying "good job" or breathe.

-Packed up all Quinn's books, magazines, art, stuffed animals, toys, and prepping his 46 Rubbermaid storage drawers full of Legos, planted like so many squatters throughout the house, for the move into HIS space--(A-beeping-men!)


To do:

-Everything else. Like:

-Vacuum his carpet.

-Get his bed in his room.

-Make his bed.

-Move his dresser in.

-Move aforementioned Legos. Good riddance!

-Set up bookshelves.

-Rearrange some things in the garage. This is slightly less pleasant than having your fingernail plucked out, because Todd will get medieval on your ass over that garage, no joke. If there is any unused space, he will cast the eye of shame upon you.

-Shampoo Reilly's room, which he waited to do until Quinn's things were out.

-Make her bed.

-Organize her stuffedies. Again, just pluck a nail.

-Drain bleached sinks and do the few dishes so we can enjoy our take-out tonight.

-(I am SERIOUSLY not looking at Todd right now--EEK!)

-Re-hang everyone's posters, calendars, bulletin boards, coat racks, and weird miscellaneous things kids need on their walls because I want everyone settled TONIGHT!

-Update my iPod after Debe download hella bad-ass new music. The Beatles are getting me through this enormous, grandiose, nigh impossible endeavor to which I've committed five unsuspecting people.

-Threaten to choke Debe if she spends one more second looking at kittens with Reilly online.

-Stash things for the apartment in the Jeep.

-Keep moving things out no matter what, and clean every surface that is cleared.

-Figure out how the hell a papasan chair gets lost, find it, and figure out who gets it.

-Gather/sort/clean the debris that gets flung aside during this, the transition phase of serious transition.

-Hope and pray there isn't that ONE THING that renders my entire mission impossible.

(Like getting his bed out and in...deep breaths.)

-Post pics when it's all done.

-Shower.

-Eat like a motherfucker.

-Get really drunk. You'll drink to that once you see the pictures. Plus the piña colada mix has been calling.

Okay okay, don't stop moving, go go go! Eye of the tiger and all that shit.

Stupid Sedentary Saturday

Sigh.



I have no choice but to live vicariously through all of your thrilling cleaning excursions right now, so don't let me down. I want to hear of dust pleading for its life, of landslide laundry victories, of unexpected sojourns in a random and scary cupboard, and I CERTAINLY want you to know that my stupid body holds no truck for pain and that I did in fact kick my house's ass all over the place two days ago, in a frenzy the likes of which I can't even recall.

What could motivate a cripple, stewing in my own OCD fury, in 100 degrees, to grab my Sonic Scrubber (I LOVE YOU DYAN!) and scour L-I-T-E-R-A-L-L-Y every surface in the house, reachable or not? I'll tell you.

You may have gathered that being confined is as tolerable to me as ... well, it isn't tolerable. I have a crazy high pain threshold and have busted stitches post-op, thinking, "If I can endure it, I can do it." Aren't I an idiot? But when the actual pain dictates my mobility, and leaves me with virtually none, I am ferocious. Every speck of dirt is a boulder, the dog is clearly a carrier of thousands of parasites, everything is crooked. It sucks. So I was in the most cheerful of summertime spirits and got into an argument with Todd, who was so devoted to hearing my complex argument for being right that he went outside to do his garden whispering thing. Naturally, I followed him out. I can handle many responses, but indifference is not to be borne. Yet this is his default mode. In case you didn't know, this equals me yelling across the patio about the all-important PRINCIPLE, something I believe Y-chromosomes don't always comprehend nor appreciate with the same passion as women. Or he was just done arguing...I was upset that Reilly hadn't completed her chore list before her appointment, and of his stand-by responses, he chose "Mag, it's not the end of the world." Oh Lord. Don't ever say this to me. During the life lesson I felt compelled, yet again, to impart to him, there was a baby crying next door. After 20 minutes or so, it really felt like the baby had been crying too long, but who goes over to their sweet 70+ year old neighbour Bev, who has several grown children and grandchildren to inquire as to a crying baby. After about 10 more minutes, Todd and I looked at each other sharing an intuition that we needed to do more than yell over this baby. He peeked into her driveway to discover the ubiquitous Dodge Ram belonging to her son, and his 18 month old son in the back seat, alone, screaming. Our hearts raced. I was some couch urchin, so he raced over. He poked his head into the truck and said "It's okay baby, they're coming!" He pounded on Bev's door, and her grandson answered. He is a very nice young man. Todd said "You need to get your baby man!" And the guy's face turned white. It seems they had pulled up while Baby was sleeping, meant to be inside for a couple minutes, and time got away, and they didn't hear him. OMG. Totally innocent. But we could not get over seeing that poor little curly-headed boy crying in the blazing heat for his parents. He was okay, they thanked Todd profusely, and got their son out. Todd and I immediately shared a relief for that baby and for the safety of our own kids, which begat an unspoken halt to the argument, and hugs for the kids, who were also sad for that baby. "What if you hadn't been out there?" "What if you had been too shy to look?" My adrenaline was pumping so hard all I could do was scrub every millimeter of the house. I couldn't help it. What if what if what if = the bzzzzzzzzzzzzzz of my Scrubber, and a house too legit to quit.

So today, while I may not be manic, I have done the work, and I still want to hear what you did, and how you get motivated and/or stay motivated. Lethargy and quitting are looming large for some Moxlings, and we mustn't succumb to the elements or to dust! (Right Gail?)

Kiss your babies, and grab one of these. I swear to the almighty that this will MAKE you want to clean:


LOOK!

Manic Malaise

OCD + bed rest = How the hell would I know?

I fail at bed rest.

Within two hours I'm convinced I have bed sores and that cobwebs have taken over every corner in sight. Not to mention all the things that turn askew, and just beyond my reach. UGH!

Should any of you find yourselves confined to rest (nasty-tasting word) for longer than a day, and don't die from boredom nor dust invasion, here are some things you can do that will not raise the ire of those supervising you to make sure you don't slip away, only to be discovered later on a ladder outside hosing out the gutters. (Shhh...)

Kick things off with an elaborate list, on fancy paper, and lots of swirls, using every Sharpie you own, and compile an assortment of tasks you could never even finish if you were on steroids and lived to be 105. I'm hopelessly listy:


Everyone's favourite, and even bed resters don't get a break:

Sewing/mending/putting buttons back on counts as cleaning because doing it creates space on the vanity, where it has been for so long these shorts probably don't even fit Quinn anymore:


Rooting in purse guts and try to figure out why the fuck it weighs 800 lbs., remove two pens and a business card and hope that lightens the load by 30%. Also, on the left are my planner/brain-in-a-notebook, kind of like a bed-in-a-bag. I had the unique pleasure of sorting that bitch, consolidating 389479457 lists, tossing lists (the best!), trying not to rip the plastic cover while fishing a giant, unsightly surgical bandage from the front of my notebook, where my bad-ass political stickers are supposed to dominate. Oooh, and calling Verizon with a host of issues. Can it ever be easy? This task alone prompted me to volunteer for six days of unconsciousness. Finally, some medical records that don't fit in the mini notebook. Hm. I lay on the floor in my underwear staring at this hideous mess of glorious treasures, like a difficult Scrabble board, and then I pounce and sort, crumple, stuff, and shred, and voila! A clean purse two pounds lighter. (The key is POUCHES within the notebook!):


Frosting the cupcakes Reilly made for her friend Lisa, because she was in a hurry. (Is she ever not?) I got ONE cupcake out of the bargain, but that's because she wanted to give exactly 25, lol:


Serious violation, even though I didn't get in. We didn't stay long because Quinn grew out of his trunks and couldn't swim. We had just come from the doctor, where she said he is off the charts height wise and has the physical maturity of a 16 year old. (He's 11.) He's *thisclose* to his dad's height, though Evelin said he will far surpass mine too. I mean, everyone in our family is hell of over six feet tall, I just didn't expect it at 11, you know? Still, I was so exhausted after this, I decided maybe the docs are onto something. Still, it's a way not to move while your kids have fun and you get sweaty and burned and listless :) :


So there are some ideas, should any of you find yourselves sentenced to limited immobility and no one trusting you, lol.


(Psssst...anyone here a bed rest rebel desperate to do something, without pissing off the warden? If so, keep reading. I will deny all involvement should you get caught, however.)
-Lint roll your bed while you're in it.

-Wipe down your night stand and de-clutter it.

-Clean some window tracks if you can reach any.

-On your way to the bathroom, rotate laundry, straighten mats, wipe down washer/dryer...

-While in the bathroom (door locked duh!): Wipe down counters, doorknobs, sink, counter, toilet, shake mats into the shower, empty the watebasket, use a kid wipe to swipe the floor (there's ALWAYS hair or dust!), straighten towels, gather bath toys, etc.

-Use any furlough to clear a surface, throw something away, wipe something down, fix/straighten.

-Ask your caretaker for something and then get up and dust the trim or a desk, whatever.

My big goal, in the next four days, is to put all the photographs I've ever owned (what's a photograph right?) into these specialized boxes I bought when I used to scrap. I think I might rather wake up to a colossal squid beside me than sort this heap of photographs starting with my great x eight grandparents on both sides (because I'm the organized one) up until I stopped taking picture-pictures of Quinn and Reilly when we got a computer way back when.

Come to think of it, I choose rest.

Monday Mouth Off

Since my house is clean, I will take this opportunity to answer questions I get repeatedly, via email and text, but never get around to posting. As if none of your lives will be complete unless you know.

*SPOILER*

Yes, Virginia there are chores I hate:

-Vacuuming. It's like opening a book that is 2,065 pages long. It's Quinn's job.

-Putting away laundry.

-I just discovered I loathe cleaning the refrigerator, but love having it clean. Blah.

-Washing the exterior windows, because the shrubs are tall enough to require every millimeter I have to get them perfectly clean.

-Making the bed that is against the wall, or BUNK BEDS OMG!

-Phone calls. Any.Phone.Calls.



These and organizing are not the loves of my life. I am tormented by the order in which to arrange my books, and how to arrange the crafts, which I despise, on the shelves so that I get credit for having them but no one ever notices/uses them. It doesn't work. There are pipe cleaners and glitter everywhere. Joy.


It only fair to share my favourite tasks, just for kicks:

-Laundry. (Simmer down! It does the work FOR you!!!)

-Dishes, because the dishwasher does the dirty work and it leads to a whole kitchen wipe down that leads to a whole house wipe down which ... Oh the places you'll go!

-Scrubbing floors.

-Cleaning the bathrooms.

-Polishing chrome.

-Freshly washed bath mats.

-Washing the vinyl shower liner.

-Dusting obscure areas spontaneously, skipping the days-long-dread.

-Vacuuming my car.

-Throwing things away.

-My torrid affair with the Sonic Scrubber, any time, anywhere.

-Folding laundry.

-Shredding papers. It means I've called on them!

-Bleaching sinks/tubs.

So yeah, I lovetocleanup.


Finally, a trick or two for those of you who fall somewhere in between:

-Consolidate. All dishes into the left side of the sink, all papers into one stack or tray, all lists clipped together, all laundry into hampers duh, all cords into bundles, decorative things into a container that showcases them. Fruit.

-CADDIES! Period. A counter top full of ungodly shit is impossible. A caddy full of trinkets and papers and knick knack paddywhack can be sifted through while you catch Ellen.

-Every time you use a sink, wipe up the splashes, and any specks, and re-hang hand towels openly so they dry and the next person's newly washed hands aren't drenched in some sopping wet towel. Always be surveying the area you're in. Straighten a rug, grab a Kleenex off the table and throw it away, etc.

-Set timers! Accountability! You can either set it for an hour and see how much you can rip through the whole house, or set it for 10-20 minutes in each selected room, which spruces things up nicely over all.

-Invite someone over. Not your best friend.

-Clean surfaces. This is key for me. Everywhere I am, I am wiping down/de-cluttering a surface and it doesn't take but two seconds longer than I was going to be standing there anyway.

-Minimize. Anything.


There you have it, a compartmentalization of sorts. I hope this is helpful. Feel free to continue asking questions. I'm hoping to add some backbone to this floppy blog soon. Also, ~M~ I have NOT forgotten about you.

Friday Firecracker For the Fuck You Heart

Every year Todd takes the kids to the beach for the 4th. I hate the beach. (Pause for you to gasp...) I grew up there, I've seen enough agates and dealt with wet sandy jeans and I'm all done. Plus I'm not in love with fireworks. Endless intermittent explosions and a lingering sulfuric haze is just not how this mama parties down.

I was conned into going last year by my beloved little masterminds who insisted they would scarcely survive if I didn't come. I love watching them play in the sand, though bear in mind my previous exclamation: I do hate the beach. Still, a good book and a camera, and I'll make it.

Last year was extra special because this rotten urchin I knew, whose gaping pus-spewing facial orifice had really outdone itself a couple weeks prior, called me (as I had borne witness to her prize-winning sepsis) SCREAMING, loud enough for my entire family to hear, "I'm going to take all your friends and ruin your life!" Well duh, when you're fucked like that and realize you're a fugly square-headed venomous bitch that everyone secretly hates, you really have no option but to blame someone else. People were calling me all weekend, to tell me I was all kinds of fucked, that this bitch is crazy, will have you killed, watch out. It was like a mini mental pyrotechnic encore in my head, and each time my phone rang I'd have to jog to the old fire station to maintain a signal, whilst listening to numerous worried voices.

Obviously this 4th July I am celebrating two types of independence. The obvious one, and the one wherein I, unlike half of this community, do not have to clamor to be an esteemed pilot fish in the infected nostrils of the Dogfish of Darkness. Blech. Good fucking riddance you cancerous shitbag, my life is infinitely cleaner without your slug trail threatening to fell anyone you please, not to mention all the brainless filthy fucks who would sooner infect others with your poison than raise their own children or CLEAN THEIR OWN HOUSES! Chrissake people, your homes do reflect you to some degree. And these subhumans all need some kerosene and to just dwell permanently in the gills of the Colossal Cunt.

Okay, now that I'm back from that trip down memory cesspool, onto the domestic demands of normal people.

I am running a domestic decathlon these days. I've said it all before, but damn. It's not really the big things that wear me out though, like school, packing/lifting, and certainly not cleaning. It's the little things like, make sure to charge my phone while I: Start the laundry, load the dishwasher, wipe the counters, sweep the floor, grab the Windex for the window and oven door, hang clean hand towels (we're talking inside two minutes here people), wipe down refrigerator handles, straighten pics/coupons/drawings on the refrigerator, Swiffer, empty the garbage can, wipe out the microwave, rotate the laundry, separate bedding according to room, put in whites to bleach, hang my snooty ass clothes, re-rinse the bleach load, add it to the load in the dryer, take a picture of my empty sorter because when the natives return they will have hell of laundry. Full of sand. Goddamn the beach.

Meanwhile I've put two water bottles in the freezer for my nighttime foray into the adult world, sans Lysol. Phone is charging.

I made this list at 6-something am. I should be shot. I managed to oversee the packing, which they can do themselves, but I remind them re: toothbrushes, chargers, blah blah blah. Crossing this list off throughout the day has been like Ecstasy, especially since my first task was to clean the ENTIRE refrigerator while Todd was at Fred Meyer getting 25 bags of groceries. Did I mention I started uploading 40+ cds as I churned out this manic morning mandate for myself? So every four minutes or so, I'd have to eject the disc and re-format a new one. Yeah, count me in for chopping fire wood. Computer tedium wastes my life.

Folding all blankets, put one water in the refrigerator so I can have it with lunch, get lost in the cupboard and cut our cup/glass population by half. Anything chipped: Gone. Anything ugly that I was keeping for the sake of an in-law passing by: Out. Anything found in the back, given to me by that skaaaaaaaaaaankish whore who probably used my money to buy it, and then handed it to me with the hands she'd just pried off of that dog man who followed her sick domineering scent through all the years of her whore-a-thon with no shame, but nose down of course. Yeah, those may have been shattered on the patio.

Straighten couch cushions, position throw pillows for no one in particular, but it will look better upon return. (Have uploaded approximately 10 discs in this time.) Made beds, including the one against the wall, UGH! Read the mail and did not let it stack up. (!) Restocked all towels, napkins, polished chrome, took out all garbages, answered ...(checking)...71 texts, 12 more discs, computer froze. Gnashed every swear word I know at that computer, which I then wiped down, including the cords underneath. It finally perked up, and I sat and manually entered some compilations iTunes doesn't recognize. SNORE OMG. Sorted through kids' outgrown clothes. Again. Quinn skipped 18 and went straight to size 20 Levi's. His growth exhausts me.

Like, I organized nail clippers, mailing labels, paper clips, hole punches, and all those things that are amazing when compartmentalized and reason enough to run to a mental hospital when they're in some orgy in a drawer.

It is blissful to report that I got ever cd uploaded and my iPod synced for this weekend's adventures. Yeah bitch, I has adventures planned. Manic cleaning has a finite threshold before it's just insane, and I made plans. Dana, I am coming to test your good word, Sumu I am coming out there to tell you something, Jo, I need a new tree, this one is like some deadly nightshade, Jennifer, I will see you today or tomorrow or today and tomorrow, and Debe, well obviously you're driving, and we will discuss recipes and lilies and all things nonviolent, won't we?

I am unshowered. I will scrub the Ajax out of the tub/shower when I get in, and then this entire house will clean, plus I will have uploaded all the discs except my kids,' in addition to doubled what we already have set aside to add to the garage sale fever. God I hate garage sales, but I'm really good at them, and I LOVE space. Also, a few bucks never hurt.

Some of the scenery as I went kickin' down the cobblestone:


Man I hated this:


This shelf like fell a-p-a-r-t and I was all "Fuck you shelf!" And then fixed it:


Cafe clean and closed:


A living room fit for everyone to be gone:


Blankets folded (I love/hate blankets. I like falling asleep with one, but hate waking up with one.)


Made beds are for the win...unless you're a total soulless slore having sex with God knows who at all hours. Then I suppose it would be really inconvenient. But for me it's amazing:


So clean up your acts mamas (and papa), and have a fabulous 4th. Reflect on independence in any form. I recommend coconut vodka, and bad-ass people worth the hangover. Except I don't get hangovers, ever, so I go get the coffee and bagels.